Water, water no where - and not a drop to drink

Well that's not entirely true.... there IS water, sometime, but it has been cause for some minor panic.  "Water is finished - again," as they say and we are back to hauling it in.  At one point, there was even a run on drinking water sold in the ubiquitous plastic bottles.    At one point, we couldn't get water and my house mate bought 5 liters to bath in it.  One gets desperate and well - one might not stay clean for more than a few minutes, but those few minutes are golden.

What new tales can I tickle your interest with today?  Some of it has been so much a part of life, that the unusual is no longer surprising - so things happen and it's just - well - Africa.  Within the last week, no fewer that about 30 huge white UN transport vehicles  - you know - 18 wheelers  transporting huge earth moving  equipment rumbled through town on their way to Sudan.  Museveni was also evidently in town because there was a lot of military presence evident:  military police, fancy black SUVs....  new jets buzzing Gulu.  The whole enchilada.

White flies are in season...  That's big if you are Ugandan.  Last week we noticed a small swarm circling the light bulb in the dining room and it felt like an invasion.  Had I been a good Ugandan woman I might have said  "Dinner time!"  But alas - although I am beginning to be able to hear whispers through the walls (Ugandans have bionic hearing) I have not graduated to eating white ants.  In the first place, I don't know why they are called ants.  The damn things FLY and you have to pull their wings off before saute-ing them.

So I did the ugly-American thing, ran for the can of BOP insect killer (which doesn't) and then swatted them with my super-duper tennis racquet mosquito zapper, which was getting lonesome in the corner.  They crunch nicely under foot.

I am on my third fan...  The first one died a slow and painful death.  The next one lost one of it's plug fingers (lousy two prong plugs known to fall off for no reason) and had to have an organ transplant  (spliced the plug from the dead organ-donor fan onto the new one) and the third one lived one day until one prong fell off.  The shop refused to replace either the fan or the plug, so I pulled the Munu card and told them I would tell all the other Munus not to shop there since they don't stand behind their products.    That is pretty much an unknown concept here (except for my wonderful Indian grocer, Samil) and  my threats had no impact whatsoever.  There's a reason Samil's store is doing better than all the rest.  The saga goes on and isn't the least bit interesting, except to note that today was my third trip into the store - this time with fan in hand and a nice Ugandan man who supported my tale of woe.  The fan now works.  After the first plug transplant, it broke again.  When I told them I was the one who had put the plug on (CORRECTLY because it DID work for a moment) they rolled their eyes without any attempt to disguise their utter dis-belief that a mere woman could do such a thing.   Where is Gloria Steinem  when you need her...

I spent Thursday morning back in the police station where I was referred - after much discussion - to

Room 12, where I was met by a young woman inspector, who informed me that "No, you cannot have a copy of this report.  It is not stamped."  Nothing here has any validity unless it is stamped.  My landlady has to buy a stamp to stamp my receipt for payment of the rent, or it is not accepted by my organization.

Anyone can get a stamp made, with any name or ID on it.  Have stamp, will travel, authorize and be official.  She also informed me that I would have to PAY for the receipt of an official (stamped) report in some weeks after they have continued to draw diagrams and investigate and question suspects (whose names they have lost).  I am informed that I will have to pay 60,000 shillings for this report.  My organization informed me - as I suspected - that this is the Munu price.  We shall see.   I expect no results, but my landlady has reminded me that it will be my fault if the burglar is not caught and he comes back -  i.e. it will be because I did not go back and pressure (pay) the police.  What a country.

It's been that kind of week.  I am thinking it can only improve.  Tomorrow I am turning a page on the calendar, rainy season is flirting with us and I now have a refrigerator and a new housemate.  I'm hoping this is a "phase of the moon" sort of thing, but I can find nothing of the kind.  All you planet watchers out there - tell me there is a reason for this and it will END!

All things come to him/her who waits...   even rain.

Feelings and other honesties...

Some days not much happens here - and that would be a plus.  Everyone, including supervisors has been in a pissy mood because of the heat.  A friend mentioned to me that I talk a lot about what is happening over here, but not much about how I FEEL.  Well, that's complicated - and because of that I don't address it much in a blog.  I've assumed that my moods show through the veiled attempted to be politically correct - but maybe I'm doing such a good job at "correctness," mood is masked.  And - you know - I chose to be here, so if I'm in a funk - well - no one made me come here and it goes with the territory.  Just like you can't go to sea and expect calm weather all the time - storms and doldrums are part of the script.

So here it is.  Actually, even with the foot calamity, the fire, the tree falling almost on the house, the burglary and the reclusive housemate turned jerk, I've been pretty philosophical.  But the fricken' heat has taken it toll.  In IST (In Service Training),  which is usually held at 3 months, but was moved to 5 months of service, we were told that the 6 month mark (of being in country) is pretty much the pits - the trough of the "U."  It was explained like this - "the euphoria has worn off, the Pollyanna goal of changing the world has been replaced by 'what the hell was I thinking - I can't even make a dent' and we have discovered that 'these people/jobs/places are not nearly as interesting as I thought.' "  And that's pretty much the case.  Uganda is not fun duty, unless you're traveling to wild game parks or the Nile.  It is work - and it is difficult work day in and day out.  It is work to carry water; get to work; be at work; wash clothes; cook dinner for one and eat it or throw it out because you can't save it and not get food poisoning; have no respite from the heat and filth; and figure out how to communicate even when - in theory - you are speaking the same language, but not really.

What it IS, is an adventure, an exploration into self via another culture.  Every time you look around or have a conversation, something is reflected back in a way you hadn't expected.  New skills are called for in every moment of every day.  There is no pure relaxation - there is momentary horizontal escape, but I have not been fully relaxed since I got here. We are always in the fish bowl - always at some level of alert.  That said as I sit here slapping mosquitoes!

There are moments of connection, some of the deepest friendship bonds I've experienced, moments of insight, the thrill of seeing an elephant - the Nile, the  grief of looking in a child's eyes and seeing despair you know has no hope of abating, the joy of looking into a child's eyes and seeing laughter in spite of everything, the soul bending loss felt when a 10 year old girl dies probably from Malaria and an overdose of Quinine and people are so accustomed to death they say through their grief, "It happens."

Many days are simply flat - knowing it will be hot, dirty, long and repeated the next day - like the movie Ground Hog Day.  Others are laced with the excitement of seeing friends and the anticipation of going to the pool connected to a local hotel, the tease of rain, a treat of some sort - like a real cookie.  I've not had a day where I seriously thought about going home, but I have many days where I wonder HOW the HELL am I going to do this for 19 more months.  And yet, I know I will, because there is something here that is important for me to do, to discover, to feel -  and I won't know what that is unless I let the full process run its course.  I know that being here is relevant, for reasons yet to be revealed and which may never be logically understood.  I know that I have been indelibly touched by the spirit of hope and gentleness of the Acholi people when they have suffered such extreme cruelty and loss - and it is that that binds me to this place and to these people.

You Know You're In Peace Corps Africa When...

There are many of these around - and that tells you something.  Here's another based on first hand experience...   Thanks to fellow PCVs - you get a broader perspective ;-)  Read it and weep, laugh and wonder, "Just how nuts do you have to be to do this?"   Well - as Jimmy Buffett once said, "If we weren't all crazy, we'd all go insane."   Sooooo -

You know you're in Peace Corps Africa when:

• "It's so nice to take a crap on a toilet..."
• Your alarm clock (rooster) is now floating in someones stew pot.
• You're known to the U.S. Troops here as "The dirty feet..."
• You leave a switch on at night so you know when the electricity comes on: you leap up at 2AM and plug everything in to charge.
• A veteran PCV admits to showering in his clothes so he can wash them at the same time.
• One of your most used phrases is "It's another PCCF."  (Peace Corps Cluster ****.)
• When you've dislocated your knee Medical says:  Just catch the bus in next week, we're all on holiday."  (Other than that PC Medical has been excellent.)
• Dinner table conversations cluster around shisto, diarrhea,  worms and malaria.
• Taking a cold bucket bath a luxury.
• You flush the toilet with your laundry water.
• You have laundry water to flush with.
• Your laundry water is too dirty/muddy to use in the toilet...
• You clean the toilet (latrine) with fire.
• You get locked in the latrine by a kid in your compound and climb out the top.
• You check to see if your eggs float before cooking them (a floating egg is a bad egg), then ask "can I still eat it if it floats a LITTLE bit?"
• Putting in your ear plugs is part of your nightly routine.
• Michael Bolten and Celine Dion are the en-route entertainment on the bus.
• Riding with chickens and goats is normal.
• You've named the mouse who shares your room.
• You can get shisto from your bathing water.
• You compare Mefloquin dreams.
• Being a Mef-head is a good thing.
• You eat bugs - on purpose.
• Termites ate your shirt.
•  "The termites ate my school fees" is a true statement.
• "Now-Now" means sometimes this week.
• Petrol comes in a baggie.
• You can hear Dolly Parton and the Muslim call to prayer at the same time.
• Tomorrow never ends:  Wa nen diki (Acholi for "see you tomorrow") but could mean any tomorrow in the future.
• You have to fight the geckos for the shower.
• You smash a fly with your butt and think this is normal.
• You've learned to like hot cola and hot beer.
• You hear beeping outside your window and your first thought is... "Is it a bomb or a bug?" 
• You have a bucket of water by your bed to wash your feet - again - before climbing into bed.
• You use it (above) to dip your feet to cool down in the middle of the night when it's still stiflingly hot. 

There's always tomorrow... and tomorrow... and tomorrow....................................................................

Back in the land of heat and dust

Aaaaah - Gulu Town.  I remember this.  Hot, dusty, noisy, dirty - but temporarily "home" nevertheless.   Most of us have left the surrounds of IST and points in between and have returned "home."

Climbed on a Homeland Bus this morning and landed a decent seat thanks to another PCV who called ahead and reserved!   Left the luxury abode of the Annex (a step down from Motel 6) with bathrooms down the hall, concrete everything - I've mentioned this place before.  Had to negotiate to get the cardboard put back in the window so I could block out the megawatt security stairwell light shining in the room 24/7.  Having had to do this each night, this encore negotiation required getting re-dressed, going into another part of the building up two flights of stairs, explaining for the um-teenth time about light-in-the-eyes being a deterrent to sleep when combined with all night noise and bumping around of maids.  The victory blow was unfortunately: "I will not pay unless you please get someone 'now-now' to fix the window."     "Now-now" takes about an hour, but it is done.   I sleep until mid-night when I'm awakened by voices down the hall having an animated discussion and then again by party-goers straggling in in the wee-hours.

This is all evidently orchestrated by the universe to bring self back to the reality of life after having spent a truly lovely day, which began with good brewed coffee (a rarity) on the terrace of the Grand Imperial Hotel watching the prehistoric, teradactyle looking Maribou Storks in some trees across the way.  This was followed by lunch (Greek salad with real honest to god lettuce - even more rare) and going to see the movie, My Week with Marilyn (excellent) in a theater that would rival the luxury of one in the States.  Afterwards, we continued the fantasy by wandering through a bookstore on whose shelves appeared books that were "hot" in the States 10 years ago, but otherwise felt like a mini-Barnes and Noble with  strains of Whitney Houston filing in the tableau.      Pushing our luck, we went for Mexican food afterwards.  It was lovely to sit outside and eat, but you know I AM a Texan and the palate cannot be fooled. The best part though was the dance lessons going on in the main room - beautiful young Ugandans learning to line dance and Salsa and doing it with panache!

Awoke at 4AM to buckets bumping around and at 7AM got a private-hire to the bus park - not quite as disorganized as the hornet's nest known as the taxi-park, but daunting.  We pay the equivalent of $10 and climb on as hawkers of everything from bottled drinks to shoes and jewelry climb aboard with their wares displayed on boards and racks and selling until about 8:15 when we leave.  This is actually on-time, unlike many buses that wait three-four hours to fill before they will pull out.  There are no goats or chickens riding with us this time, but as we were puling out of the park, I saw a gathering of what appeared to be wedding-goers carrying their gifts.  It was the bright blue ribbon wrapped around a big stick used for grinding food that got my attention.  Another reveler was carrying a big earthen ware jug used locally for storing water and keeping it cool, while another had a big blue bow tied around the neck of an unsuspecting goat, being led by a leash of blue ribbon.  Wish I'd had my camera, but this is a scene that will live on in my mind's eye forever.

Crossing the Nile on the way back is always the indicator that we're getting close  and it is a fantastic Force 5+ white water rush.  Just on the other side, the baboons were back and we can feel the temperature rising.   It is at least 10 degrees hotter here. The baboon return must be seasonal, because the last few times we have crossed they have been conspicuously absent.  They are my "up-side of Africa" fix.   Another stop brings us along side the chicken market where live chickens tied by the feet and dangled upside-down are offered for sale. Someone behind me thinks he'll take a couple and they are un-ceremoniously shoved through the window squawking and flapping indignantly - only to be rejected for reasons unknown.

We are spared the ride back listening to the poor creatures, whose noise would only serve to accompany the crying baby sitting next to the throwing-up seat mate one row ahead.   Travel in Uganda is not for the squeamish or those prone to motion sickness.  Thank you again Diane for sending me along with SeaBands and to Travis and Brett for replacing the lost ones.  They are life-savers.  You can forget the American Express Card, but never leave home with out your SeaBands in Uganda!

I arrived home six hours later to see all the trees that were cut down along the fence line to deter the neighbors from climbing over and burglarizing the joint, still laying around  looking unsightly.  Unsightly sheets of rusted roofing tin have now been added to the fence to make it "safer," and more prison like....  The glass in the broken window has been fixed;  Geckos skitter across the walls and skinks slither out of windows as I open them.  Yep - I'm home.  And while I do not have electricity, I do have water.  As fast as humanly possible, I fought the Geckos for the bathroom and won - took a delishously cold shower, threw some laundry in the bucket to let it soak and got horizontal to finish a book I started before I left.

Despite the heat and dust, I have to admit to being glad to be back in a less hectic environment, where good places to eat and movies don't drain the pocket book and one can settle.    Since there is no electricity, there is little cold to be found in Gulu, but I lucked upon one shop with a cold Slurpy yogurt and that is dinner.

Welcome home to me ;-) or "Apwoyo dwogo," as I will be greeted tomorrow morning when I return to work.  In other words"  Thank you for returning!"

A loko leb Acholi ma nok nok...

"I speak Acholi a little..."   And at least well enough to pass the second round of testing.  It was about as badly handled as something like that can be - our language trainers being the only bright spot in an otherwise dark journey.  The whole remaining group of 40 (one more has been Medically Evacuated) rode buses to Masaka, a town in the south west.  Some of us traveled for 6 days to get two days of "training."  Hmmmm -   But Masaka is actually a lovely town - it turns out the second largest city in Uganda - I was mis-informed about Gulu being the second largest.  And it is probably a place I would not have visited had it not been the venue for IST.   There is a real road going from Kampala to Masaka - complete with painted lines and passing lanes.  To those of us in the north, this discovery was like  waking up in a fairy tale.  This is Museveni's stomping groups, so the west has better amenities.  But that wasn't the only thing:  there are hills... and green grass ... and fat cows, geese and goats and road-side craft markets boasting baskets, three-legged-stools, drums, gourdes, etc.  And then there were tall columns of carefully stacked yams and cassava for sale in front of the homesteads lining the road.   The difference between the northern war-ravaged part of Uganda and the South and Southwest is staggering to the point of Uganda feeling like two distinct countries.

And we crossed the equator!   This seems big after hearing your whole life about the equator - equatorial heat,  Coriolis Effect, gravity and all that. I missed the opportunity to see if I weighed less (I'm sure there's a diet plan in there somewhere - but it would be an infinitesimal loss), see if water circles the opposite direction, etc.  What you hear about it being hotter at the equator doesn't work in Masaka because of the elevation.  It was soooo much cooler than Gulu and being surrounded by green grass and cool breezes provided an added psychological boost.    Ah - and we enjoyed good food at a couple of local cafes - even had a banana split - thought it was called a Banana Spilt.

It was a treat to see all the other PCV's again, catch up on the gossip and basically get IST and language behind us.    Of all the challenges I expected in Peace Corps, I did not expect the sturm-und-drang promulgated by PC admin to be among them.  But it has defined and dominated much of our time here and created an atmosphere of distrust  and mixed-messages that has been all-encompassing and in some cases debilitating.   The Peace Corps experience offers an opportunity for deep self-reflection and shift even if one is not so prone to introspection.  The first six months is a roller-coaster ride of emotions given the best of environments and support (neither of which would describe ours). Transformative is the word that comes to mind and has certainly been true for PCV's who came in at a time and place where PC was not so bureaucratized and political.  My sister and her husband did PC in the Kennedy years and it was a different experience entirely, some elements of which are to be expected, others not.

Still, I am glad to be part of this adventure and the experiences many of us are having within our communities transcend the bureaucracy.  Now that we are through the threat of being sent home for the transgression of not improving in one of many local languages (seldom utilized at many of our sites), we can put our full attention toward doing what we came here to do - contribute. Our individual reasons for coming are as varied are the personalities here.   Some came to beef up their resumes, some to recalibrate, some to have an adventure, some to escape because they didn't know what to do next, some - for all of the above.  All are valid.  But regardless of why we thought we were coming, the lessons and what we take away and - indeed the footprints we leave behind - will not be fully realized until we leave.  So trying to analyze it now is fruitless.  It's a little like taking pictures:  one has to step outside the moment to do that - and in doing so loses the full impact of just being here.    Some days that takes every ounce of resolve and restraint.  Other days are magical.

When I was a "we" and "we" were sailing, a more experienced sailor said:  "If you can add up all of your best days and worst days and get a sum of zero,   you've had an excellent adventure!"    Still tallying...   and hoping for a "zero."

A Pretty Good Day...

With all the hubbub happening around here, I thought I'd report that today was actually a decent day.  The term hubbub was posted in the entrance to a gondola ride up the mountain to visit one of the temples on one of my China trips.   The sign said "Absolutely NO hubbubbing."  Bet you didn't know that was a verb did you?  Well, I could use that sign here.    

Still dealing with the fall out of last week and didn't go into the office much but still accomplished things.  Had a very interesting meeting with a young Ugandan doctor who trained in the US.  Actually spent some time at Baylor Medical!  I'm tellin' ya - the world is getting smaller and smaller.  He started a non-profit for children who have been orphaned either buy the war or HIV/AIDS.  There are an awful lot of things here that result in children being orphaned.  His program selects worthy students from the Gulu area, sponsors them in a private boarding school, provides food, clothing, pays school fees, etc.  Ugandans will be the first to tell you that the public system is woefully inadequate and behind, so this is a godsend.  His program is: The Child Is Innocent.  As we talked some more, he began talking about a new program he wants to find funding for that will help parents of these children when the parents have HIV/Aids - and that's about 45%!  The ratio of girls to boys in his program is 60% girls - impressive. There is a lot of initiative here to balance the gender issue - and it is a huge issue with deep cultural roots.

Also had a chance to sort through three boxes of Books for Africa for our early childhood reading program/story hour I'm trying to get started via LABE, mentioned in a December blog.  I tagged about 120 books suitable for really young readers - story hour!  In some ways it was a walk down memory land as I came across titles I'd read to the kids:  Blueberries for Sal, Strega Nona, Spot, Curious George...  Couldn't part with the Blueberries for Sal just yet - it's sitting on the top shelf of my bookcase and I get a little nostalgic every time I pass it.  (And George! Should I save Curious George for you?  I know you're curious.)  And there's another entire box of young-adult books that will go to another PCV's site - a vocational school where students are asking for books to read to improve their English.  It was a good haul and they arrived here via a very circuitous route having been relayed through many hands to find their way to my front door!

Even my landlady came by to discuss things she's going to fix!  And shortly after she left, she returned with guys to do it.  This is record timing anywhere, but unheard of in Uganda.  They promise to be here tomorrow afternoon to do the work - so there's the real test.

And - for dessert - I got rain and a front porch light that works - AND power?  It is there...

What Fresh Hell Is This?

It was a day like any other - somehow, except that it started in Kampala.    I awoke at 5:30 AM, not to the Call to Prayer this time or roosters, but courtesy of the hotel cleaning staff. This morning's  headache from the three sips of beer  (it's hell getting old) I'd had the night before could have been an omen.

My LABE ride to Gulu was to pick me (we're speaking Uganglish now)  at 9:30, so I had plenty of time.  I packed - a little heavier load on the way back.  Remember  I am carrying a small wart-hog and a few other assorted treasures.  I have the general feeling of dis-ease, attributing it to the fact that I may arrive at a time when my soon-to-be-former-housemate  is moving out.  Time passes - I have a tiny cup of coffee, thinking ahead to the fact that there are woefully few bathrooms on the way home.  (One you have to pay 200 shillings for the privilege  of fighting your way through a throng of road-side vendors selling animal parts, soft drinks, fabulous pineapple and chiapati to head down a dirt slop and use the fly infested, wreaking latrines.)  At least the LABE vehicle chooses its stops with greater discernment, but that means waiting until past halfway to get to the service station.  Also, I will be riding with three people instead of 103 and I like them.

Enough of that.  9:30 passes, now they will pick me at 11:00.  I've had to check out of the room and have various and sundry assorted parcels.  I wait for a bootlegged copy of The Iron Lady to be burned at the hotel video store.  It's not happening - because it had started pouring rain and the one man who can do it is delayed.  While I wait, the phone rings and I assume it's my ride out front, but it is Caroline, my landlady.  I assume she's calling about the rent, but she tells me my house has been broken into.  My heart is pounding.  My housemate just moved out and someone has watched, seeing that I also am not there.   The connection is bad, I can't hear because of the maelstrom of rain on the plastic roof, but I hear, "window broken, master bedroom, didn't get into the house, pulled things through the window, clothes scattered in the front yard, police."  That's plenty.

Lost connection.    Well - that about sums it up.

The LABE vehicle finally leaves at 2:30.  Yes - 5 hours later.    But wait, it gets better.  Two and some-odd hours after leaving Kampala, an alert sound screams in the truck (a toyota affectionately called "The Daughter of Japan," except she is behaving like The Shrew of Japan at the moment).  She is having a breakdown and we are in the middle of nowhere and I am beginning to wonder if I will be spending the night in the cab of the truck.  But ultimately gather my resources, shift gears and mentally suggest to the heavens that the next vehicle down the road a nice white (they're all white...) NGO vehicle I can flag down and hitch a ride into Gulu.

I turn to my right to check and there it appears over the "hill."  A nice, white ActionAid vehicle.   It pulls over and stops.  Really?  Why didn't I think of this sooner....

There's white smoke coming from the Shrew and they are giving her a drink.  I'm thinking don't they know if you pour cold water down the throat of a hot radiator the engine block can crack????  I mention this to no avail.  I'm just a woman.  STILL - I KNOW  SOME THINGS.    Well - the Shrew finally starts with water pouring from underneath and is able to slog to a service station and I wave goodbye from the back seat of ActionAid while I have a fine conversation with the Charles and James, stellar men who work on Women's Rights.

I arrive "home" at 8:30 and Jenna and her mom are there having used the extra key and responded to my plea.  They have white wine and broccoli cheese soup and hugs waiting.  Thanks god the electricity "is there."  Nothing worse than trying the ferret out what was stolen in the dark.  

The good news is the thieves have NOT been able to break into the house!!!  But, they have artfully cut the glass in a bedroom window and used a series of long sticks with hooks on the end to drag and pull things out the window through the burglar bars - still in tact.  The clothes that were strewn over the front yard have been thrown back in the room courtesy of the police and the wonderful compound mates who live here and thought to report the crime.  Seems the thief has no use for my underwear (that's a relief).  But they have managed to take my iPhone that Brett spent DAYS loading music, movies, books and even a Luganda language program on. Also took off with my MacPack of Apple adapters and chargers, the chargers for the camera and the Kindle, AND a bag full of CD's consisting of family videos, pictures and movies.  Still I can ultimately replace most of it and the kids have a copy of the pictures.

This morning was spent at the Police Station, another Gulu experience, but they were extremely courteous, took a detailed report and I'm pretty curious about what they did with the finger prints they took, since there was no report filed there (?????????).  Hmmmm

Well - we shall see.  In the meantime, I am somewhat philosophical and considering this a lesson in non-attachment to either things or outcome.     Had they stolen my computer or clothes I can't replace here, I might be less philosophical - murderous in fact.  It's pretty creepy knowing that all my comings and goings are watched (obvious because Jaron had just moved out and they clearly knew WHICH room to target and when to do it).    Probably neighborhood kids and I am safe when I am here - it's just stuff they want. I'm headed out to buy a steel locker, masonry nails to nail the damn thing to the cement floor and a good padlock.

In answer to a question from a friend, "Is there every a day with out some adventure - good, bad or otherwise?  I would say very few.   In the Mandarin language the symbol for Crisis and Opportunity are the same.    Plenty of crises - plenty of opportunity here.

Dental work anyone?

Contrary to what you might be thinking, I have not fallen off the planet nor had all my teeth pulled out with pliers.  Although, a bus ride to Kampala is close to being in another dimension, this one was pretty good as 5 hour bus rides go.  It was a it overcast and coolish and I did it with friends.   Upon arrival, we hiked the 45 minutes to out hotel, none of us knowing how to get there, just getting redirected every half mile or so.  

And I have survived dental so far.  I arrived and booked into the Annex – a hostel type hotel with single, double and triple rooms that share a bathrooms and a showers.  The good news is the bathrooms are cleanish, the showers are pretty good and there is HOT water.  The down side is noise and that derives from the fat that the house keeping staff works all night, getting especially active around busy around 3:30 AM, banging trash cans, mop buckets, etc.  I have finished with trying to determine the logic of this.  Or more correctly:  "Logic is finished." They are making an effort to be quiet, but it’s a big concrete building with no carpet or sound deadening niceties.  You pee – everyone down the hall knows it.  Wanna shower?  they'll hear in the next hall.  Conversations? Forget privacy - I have a room that is sandwiched between hallways – no windows to the outside, but windows into each hall and bright lights left on at night, so it's high-noon bright 24/7.   I finally convinced them to put a  piece card-board over the big window so I can get some sleep.  Still, staying at the Annex is not for the weak or anyone accustomed to the vast creature comforts of a Motel Six.  The Four Seasons is a distant memory.

The nice thing about The Annex is the price ($10 American) and the fact that it is across the street from  the African Craft Market – and not too far from the main shopping  area that has a real mall and a movie theater.  I never thought I would miss a mall...    Back to the Annex.   A few nights ago I was treated to a cloud of second hand smoke-of-the-herb.  Would have gone to find it, but it was like the fog – unknown origin.  So unlike one of our former presidents, I inhaled.  Precious little benefit from that though…

Tuesday morning was spent in the dental chair enduring three hours of drilling, gagging, neck arched, body tensed – it seems to be good work.  She keep saying "relax your tongue." Now how the hell do you do that.  I tried to remember the Lamaze Method (of childbirth) where you relax one body part while the others are tense or in exquisite pain.  My tongue wasn't having anything to do with that.  

It wasn't sooooo different from dental work in the States 10 years ago, but my lady dentist, Dr. Julie, was extremely competent and professional. One friend went to a dentist who has the modern capability of creating the crown on site, but mine is being sent to Hong Kong and will be ready in three weeks.  I have a temporary which seems fine, but I spent the afternoon in a post dental-work stupor and drool,  which seemed like a fine justification for going to a movie.  Yes – at a real theater. 

We went to see This Is War and were three of the 5 people in the theater.  About 2/3 of the way through, the film stopped, lights came on and speakers began to crackle.  10 minutes later is started again…   I hear this is normal. We got a coupon for a free drink - no fountain drinks -  but a good assortment of candy and chips.  Since popcorn was what broke my tooth, I opted for  Pringles. At least if my crown falls off I have a can to put it in.  Besides,  popcorn is ubiquitous in Uganda: it can be found in even the tiniest dukas.

While in Kampala, I’ve had really good Chinese food (three times), a very nice glass of South African wine – chilled, good coffee (but I have that at homes thanks to care packages) and some fairly hysterical catch-ups with friends.   That’s the real perc of PC – the friends you make.  A bit like bonding over the shared misery of boot-camp.   

The Budget Training workshop that was the original purpose of my coming (before the tooth debacle) has been pretty good. Good presenter from Nairobi.   Some of it is very basic overview, but most of it I have found useful.  I’m not a finance person (understatement of the decade), so it was a relief to know I had much of this in place, but the detail filled in some blanks and will be helpful now and later. 

Last night – Friday – we wandered across the street again to the African Craft Market.  After showing an amazing amount of restraint (having already succumbed to the purchase of a very-African trade bead necklace, some  re-cycled aluminum elephant earrings and an original welded, ugly-as-sin warthog sculpture) we discovered the performances going on at the National Theater. Get those images of the Kennedy Center out of your mind.  No inside performance tonight – but a gathering of amazingly talented break dancers, African drumming and ballet group and a big audience all out in front of the theater.  It’s clearly the creative heartbeat of Kampala and an interesting, different crowd.  I am beginning to see how a trip to Kampala can be a good thing.   And that, in itself is a good ting, because I'll be back in a week.

So this morning, I’m waiting to leave. Thank god the LABE vehicle is driving us back to Gulu and it’s not another long bus trip.    Going back to what has become a contentiousness and ill-planned move-out of my former housemate, but looking forward to my new housemate ;-)  Ultimately, this is a blessing.    Just need to get through the next day or two.    Somehow, I hadn't thought I would encounter issues like these half a world away, but we never quite jettison the mundane world.   As is said, there is a gift in every challenge and there have been gifts to this one.